their pockets. When the waterman finds that his boat has been carried by the tide far below the landing-place, he does not relax his rowing, and yield himself to the adverse waves, but braces every muscle, and pulls hard against the stream. Redouble your exertions, and you may soon be extricated. Particularly when one is in debt, this is the best encouragement which he can give his creditors to allow him every favour. And if it has been your misfortune to be involved in debt, let me beseech you to avoid plunging any deeper into this slough. Necessity has no law, but so long as you can procure an honest mouthful of food, avoid this embarrassment.

There are occasions on which, if ever, men are open to temptation. When want pinches, when wife and family cry for food, those whose honour has never wavered will sometimes think of dishonest resources. Stifle the viper in your

bosom!

Last of all, I say, do not repine. Discontent will only imbitter the distress which it cannot relieve; and it is as wrong as it is useless and injurious. Be humble, patient, and resigned to the arrangements of Providence, and you will not fail to see better days.

XXXIII.

THE VILLAGE REVISITED.

"I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amidst the swains to show my book-learn❜d skill,
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw.

And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Home to return-and die at home at last."

GOLDSMITH.

AFTER an absence of many years I lately revisited the village of Ashford. This is a small inland place, in the midst of farmers, and undistinguished by manufactures or extensive trade. Its inhabitants are chiefly mechanics and store-keepers. On my entrance, I perceived that the place had undergone fewer changes than is common in America. There was the same long, straggling street, widening at one place into a green or common, upon which stood an unsightly market-place, of that red brick which so disfigures and degrades the architectural prospects of our country. There were the same inns, and before one of them the same creaking sign of an Indian Queen, at which I used to throw stones when I was a boy. The

principal tavern had been enlarged, and I was told that the present incumbent was the last of six who had practised at that bar within twenty years. Besides those who had been burned out, one had been hanged, and one had become a reformed character. I was sorry to see that the other tavern-keeper was a person who had in former days been a pro mising saddler.

My attention was drawn forcibly to the places of the old mechanics. I looked for old JAMES SORREL, the chair-maker; there was no trace of him or his. None of his sons were bred to his trade, and those who survive are in the West. I also looked for MARK BELVILLE, the hatter-the only one of his trade in those days. He ran away from his creditors fifteen years ago. The reason I found it easy to guess his shop was always a rendezvous for the idlers of the whole The little English tailor, who was next in the row, had become too old to work; I was told he had become rich and miserly; he had no children, and, as I remember, could not read. RoBERTS, the shoemaker, was still visible, a grayhaired old man, pacing about the street with an unsteady step, his hands behind him. After many

street.

years' hard work, he has retired to live with a married niece; his sons are in Ohio, except one who keeps up the trade in a neighbouring town. The old man has one serious calamity: he has no solace for his old age, either of mind or heart. In his young days he had but one rule, Be honest

and industrious.

How many think this all

sufficient! He observed it; he worked early and late, till his back was bowed down, and his eyesight gone. He succeeded-that is, he accumulated wealth. In order to do this, he saved both time and money. He had no books but an almanac, and always voted at town-meeting for the lowest possible sum to common schools. His charity began at home; and he took care to let it end there; and resolving to be just before he should be generous, he was all his life practising this first lesson. Now, in his old age, he is wealthy, but wretched. The domestic charm which keeps some families together, was unknown to him, and he is a solitary widower; though, if you number his children, the family is large. I have written down in my pocket-book, that it will not do for a man to make a god of his trade; and that, in spite of Ben Franklin, there are other goods in life than popularity and thrift. The very next house is occupied by two young brokers, partners, who are playing the very same game. A new race of loungers appeared in the streets, but in no respect inferior to those who had been before them, having the same airs, and very much the same haunts. It is a class which propagates itself with remarkable ease, and there are few country towns in which there may not be found abundant specimens. The spots once occupied by the shops of two bakers, I was pleased to see covered with beautiful pleasure-grounds, and embellished with

two mansions a good deal superior to any thing in Ashford. I knew their occupants well. They were dutiful boys, and public-spirited men. The time and money, which at intervals they bestowed upon objects of common interest, have been amply made up to them by increase of credit and respectability. Benevolence is good policy. By doing good they are more known, and more revered. The chief difficulty is for them to decline offices of trust; and they are already concerned in the administration and settlement of more estates than any of their fellow-townsmen.-Though not related, they have always been good friends; and I am told they are about to join in erecting, chiefly at their own expense, a Lyceum, or building for public lectures and philosophical experiments. They furnish a happy example of that healthful popularity which may be attained without an undue meddling with party politics.

By this I am reminded of OLIVER CRABBE, the tallow-chandler. One would have supposed that Oliver's business might have occupied all his hours, but he found time to spend upon the affairs of the public. He was oftener in his front shop than in his dipping-room, because his front shop was a sort of news-room. There, upon bench and counter, at almost any hour, might be seen the sage quidnuncs of the town. It was the village exchange. In spite of odours "not of amber," that door seemed to attract to itself perpetual groups, which might be likened to the clusters at